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‘Hey, is there a doctor…?’

The poor man was pale and rasping.  His hand clutched
tightly to his chest.

‘Phil; you okay?’

Phil nodded weakly.

Surely there was someone here who knew first aid.

‘Let me through, I’m a doctor,’ and everyone obliged as a
youngish man approached.

Thank God.

It was one of the guests.  No-one Jake recognised.

He reached down and held Phil’s hand.

‘You’d better call an ambulance.’

‘He’ll be all right, won’t he?’

The doctor said nothing but began to loosen Phil’s
clothing.  So Jake wasted no more time and found the phone.  Then he was back.

Carole was standing there looking down at her husband,
distraught, and they waited.

It was not long before the ambulance arrived and Phil was
carried off on a stretcher.

For some reason Jake found his mind turning to the box he
had been given.  Oh, come on he told himself, stop being melodramatic.  How
could that in any way be linked to Phil’s condition?

But it was a coincidence, wasn’t it?

It was the next evening when the news finally came
through.  Uncle Phil had died.  A combination of over-eating, over-indulgence,
generally overdoing it and, of course, that old bogeyman - stress.  And Jake
felt certain that he knew what had caused that particular devil to strike.  How
well he remembered Phil’s manner when he had handed over Dad’s box

So Jake found himself looking at the tin that lay there
unopened upon the coffee table and was struck by the increasing conviction that
what had happened to Uncle Phil was in some way due to its contents.  Somehow
he wondered if it would be better to leave it shut.

‘Come on, Jake.  What are you waiting for?’

Fiona was smelling money.  Jake was certain of it.  It was
all she ever thought about.  Cow.

But, it was as if he was about to open Pandora’s box with
all the ills of mankind inside and he was about to let them loose upon the
world.  No, Fiona was right, he was being ridiculous, just making excuses.

He tore back the brown tape but, try as he might, the lid
would not budge.  Obviously, it had been closed for a long time and had seized
up.

‘Come on.  Let me try.’

God.  Fiona was excited.  Well, she had better just calm
down.  This was his box and he would open it.

‘Here,’ he said with no trace of the annoyance within,
‘Get me the scissors or something.  Let’s see if I can prise it off.’

With an obvious show of reluctance Fiona left the room. 
Jake just hoped that whatever was inside was worth the trouble.

It was as Fiona returned with the implement that the phone
rang.

Again Fiona stood and walked out into the hall.  Jake
waited for her to return.  He still refused to admit it to himself but he was
taking full advantage of the delay.  The longer he put off the evil moment the
happier he was going to be.

‘Well,’ announced Fiona as she returned a few minutes
later looking like a kitten with a big secret to hide, ‘Now there’s a bit of
luck.  It’s Mitch.  He wants to speak with you.’

Fuck.

‘Well, go on.  Now’s your chance to redeem yourself.’

Jake could feel his anger rising within him.  The
scheming, conniving little bitch.  It was so obvious.  She had set him up.

He controlled himself.  There was no point rising to the
bait.

Jake took a deep breath as he realised that this could be
turned to his advantage.  Maybe by speaking to Mitch he could discover the
truth about him and Fiona.  See if they were really having an affair.

Taking the box with him (he was not going to give Fiona the
pleasure of opening it in his absence) he walked out to the phone and took the
receiver.

‘Yes?’

‘Hi, Jake.  Mitch Mitchell; it’s great talking to you. 
Fee’s told me all about you.’

Fee?
 Fiona never let anyone call her that.  Jake
hated Mitch already.

‘Now listen to me.  I’ve seen some of your work.  It’s
bloody great; it really is.  I’m the editor here at The Post.  Why don’t you
come in to see me tomorrow morning?’

Jake knew exactly what he wanted to reply.  The guy
sounded thoroughly obnoxious but if he wanted to learn the truth there was only
one answer he could give.

‘Great, so I’ll see you at eleven.  Okay?  You know where
we are don’t you?’

Jake did and with an inner groan hung-up.

‘Jake?’

God, Fiona was quick to hear the news.

‘I’m seeing him tomorrow.  All right?’

‘Oh, that’s marvellous.’

Jake grunted unintelligibly.  Fiona had ‘victory’ written
in big letters across her face.  Scheming cow that she was.

And, again, they were preparing to open the tin box.  This
time there could be no escape.

Using the scissors Jake managed to loosen the tight
fitting and after a few attempts he could feel it give.  He pulled off the
lid.  Within, there were two items.  The first was a small plastic jewellery
box, the type of thing that usually contained a cheap ring; and underneath was
a plain and faded manila envelope.

‘Well?’

‘Patience.’

‘Come on.  Let’s see, the ring.’

‘What ring?’

‘Oh don’t be an idiot,’ she laughed as she tried to grab
the box.

‘Oh no you don’t.’

‘Then, get on with it.’

‘All right.  Here goes.’

Jake lifted the lid and saw the large yellowish stone on a
plain gold band.  It had to be about half an inch square.  Despite that it did
not appear to be that valuable.

‘And that’s it?’ stated Fiona, quite disappointed.  What
did she expect; the Koh-I-Noor?

‘Wait, there’s writing on it.  Look, Jake.  What’s it
say?’

Jake raised the ring and peered at the stone.  There were
two symbols scored into it but he did not have a clue what they meant.

‘Here.  Let me see.’

And without waiting for assent Fiona made to grab the ring
from out of her husband’s hand.  Much to her annoyance he frustrated her.

‘Well,’ she glared, ‘Open the envelope.’

There was nothing else for it and Jake did as he had been
told.  Inside was a faded sheet of torn paper that seemed as if it had been
ripped from a book.  On it was written an unfamiliar script that looked vaguely
Hebraic to Jake’s untrained eye.

There was nothing else to give any explanation.  He held
the ring.  Weighed it, balanced it, and tried to gain the feel of the thing. 
He closed his eyes.

The ring seemed to vibrate, to hum a gentle heartbeat, and
Jake felt energy pass through him.  It was as if the stone was alive.

‘Jake.’

He opened his eyes and looked at his wife.  Her face was
alight.  Oh no.  What did that auger?

‘Yes?’

‘You don’t know what you’ve got there,’ She gloated.

‘And you do?’

‘I think so.  I’ve seen something like it before.  I’m
sure of it.  If I’m right that stone’s thousands of years old and the writing
on it is Biblical Hebrew.’

‘How on Earth could you know that?’

‘Trust me.  I’ve got a nose for things like this.  You
know that.  Let me have it and I’ll get it valued.’

‘No!’

‘But, why?  What does it mean to you?’

‘I don’t know, but Uncle Phil gave it to me before he
died.  I know it was a heart attack but he was worried about this, really
worried, and he warned me to guard the ring.  It’s been in the family for a few
hundred years; I’m not going to be the one to let it out of my sight.

‘But, Jake.’

‘No, Fiona.  This is my ring and I’m going to wear it. 
Let’s see if it fits.’

And he slipped it onto his middle finger.  It fitted
perfectly.  At once his body felt as if it was glowing and he was suffused with
such a sensation of goodness that he knew instinctively that he had done the
right thing.

‘But, I’ll tell you what I am going to do.  I’ll assume
you’re right and then I’m going to find someone who can read old Hebrew.  I
want to know exactly what it is that I have here.  Nothing you will say is
going to change my mind.’

At which point the telephone rang again.

‘Now, what?’

But Fiona answered it anyway.

Jake heard her speaking.  She seemed angry.  Had to be one
of his friends.

‘It’s for you.  Didn’t give his name.’

Jake decided to take the call in the bedroom.

‘Yes.’

‘Jacob Tranton?’
questioned
a curt, no-nonsense, voice with an unrecognisable accent.

‘Yes.’

‘My name’s Tiferet, Benjamin Tiferet.  You do not know
me.’

‘No.  What do you want?’

(A bloody salesman; had to be.)

‘I must see you urgently.  I have some news for you.’

(Like hell.)

‘About what?’

‘I cannot explain on the telephone.  All I will say is
that I know something that you will find extremely interesting.  What do you
know about the Kabbalah?’

‘Very little.  What about it?’

The man was right, he was interested.  Anything that
smacked of the occult would interest him.  That was Fiona’s biggest complaint
about his journalistic endeavours.

‘Now, Mr Tranton.  We both know that modern black magic
draws extensively from the Kabbalah.  You are a journalist, are you not?’

Jake muttered a faint assent but he had to admit that he
was intrigued.

‘All right.  Where shall we meet?’

And the enigmatic voice on the other end of the line gave
directions which Jake copied onto a pad by the phone. 

‘Now, listen to me carefully.  You are in danger.  Do not
tell anybody that we are meeting.  I mean that.  Trust nobody.  They will stop
at nothing to get your ring.’

‘What?’

(How the fuck did the guy know about the ring?)

‘I cannot say any more.  I will see you tomorrow at ten.’

‘No, wait a minute.’

And there was a click as the line went dead.

Benjamin Tiferet.  Who the hell was that?  How did he know
about the ring?  And that warning...and Jake looked down at the ring upon his
finger.  His uncle had probably died because of it.  Now strangers were warning
that his life was in danger and then his old resolve returned.

Damn them all.  If this Tiferet person was after the ring
then Jake would confront him.  Maybe he could learn the truth.

So they would meet at ten.  At the very least there was a
story in it.

At ten; shit.  Now, how was he going to manage that?  He
was supposed to be meeting Mitch at eleven.  Oh well.  Learning about Fiona’s
affairs could wait.

…………………………………………….

‘Who was it?’ Fiona asked.

Jake was just about to explain when something stopped
him.  She was playing around behind his back.  He would tell Fiona when the
need arose.

‘I don’t know.  A nut, I expect.  He said that he’s a
story for me.  I might follow it up.  Who knows, there might be something in
it?’

‘Okay, but don’t ruin your chance with Mitch, will you?  I
won’t be too happy if you do.  You know that, don’t you?’

And there was a definite edge of malice in her voice. 
Sometimes, Fiona could be quite unnerving.

‘Okay, then.  I’m going to do some work in my office. 
I’ll be down shortly.’

Taking the tin box containing his father’s letter and the
ancient page, Jake headed up the stairs to the box room that he grandiosely
called his office.  He was going to look through his books to see who he knew
that might give him the translation he required.  Surely there had to be
someone who could read Biblical Hebrew or maybe he could find the answer for
himself.

……………………………………………

Once she was certain that Jake was out of the way Fiona
turned to the phone and called a number.  She felt such school girlish
anticipation as she did so and she was rewarded for her efforts when she heard
the familiar voice of Mitch Mitchell.

‘Hi, Fee.  I told you I could help.  But he is a wanker,
isn’t he?  I don’t know why you put up with him.’

‘Nor do I, though…?

‘What?’

‘You know…’

‘Oh, Fee.  Stop worrying.’

‘But, Mitch?’

‘You’re being silly.’

‘Am I?’

But Mitch did not reply.  Fiona knew that it was an
argument she could never win.  Mitch was far too certain of himself.  That was
his one big failing.  There was one more thing, however.

‘You know those cuff-links…?’

‘Yes.’

‘He wanted to wear them for the Bar Mitzvah yesterday.’

‘Why didn’t you warn me?’

‘I’m sorry.  I didn’t think.’

‘Bloody hell, Fee.  You could’ve ruined everything.  What
happened?’

‘I managed to persuade him to wear another set.  I don’t
think he noticed they were gone.’

‘Thank Christ for that.  So Jake doesn’t suspect a thing?’

‘Not in the slightest.’

‘You’ve done well.  Alex will be pleased.’

Nothing seemed familiar.

Jake could feel his breathing becoming so unbearably
heavy.  He was gasping, gasping, for what little air there was.  It was as if
he was being buried alive under the weight of the oppressive atmosphere.  There
was no escape from the dark and forbidding sky that seemed to be trying to
crush him under its increasing pressure.

He looked about himself, endeavouring to make sense of his
surroundings but there was nothing that gave him a focus.  Above, the evil sky
and, beneath his feet, what?  It was spongy with the texture of coarse grass
but its colour was an alien, inanimate shade of grey and the stuff stretched to
the infinite reaches of the strange world in which he found himself.

As much as he tried, Jake had no recollection of how he
had reached this place and he had even less of an idea how he could leave. 
There was, however, nothing to be gained in staying where he was and, as
uncertain as he felt, Jake knew that he had better move.

Cautiously, at first, he began to walk.  Direction was
quite irrelevant in this vista of uniform greyness and he merely headed out
following the bearing he had been facing.  Maybe there was someone who could
tell him where he was.

It was such a superhuman effort, pushing his way through
the dense air, but it was not impossible and Jake experienced a mild euphoria
as he realised that he was making some slow progress.  That was when the mist
began to form.

At first there was just wispy tendrils of cloud but soon
they had formed into banks of an almost living impenetrable fog and, the more
Jake’s view became obscured, the more his fears came to the fore.

With a certainty that had no rational basis Jake Tranton
knew that he was quite alone.  There was no other sentient being in the whole
of this world and that sensation of loneliness was enough to drive him ever
deeper into despair.

Fight against it.  You can do it.

But no.  Jake felt his self-control trickling away down an
ever increasing incline and still he continued to trudge across the
increasingly squishy grassland, fighting to prevent his feet from sinking into
its marsh-like quality

And then he saw something, at least he thought he did. 
The barest hint of movement in the surrounding ether.  He was not alone but
somehow the thought gave him no comfort.

‘Who’s there?’ he whispered.

But there was no response; just the continuing silence and
all the terrors that conjured.

There it was again.

The hint of a dark, dark, shadow that seemed to be
following behind.

‘Who’s there?  Show yourself, please.’

And Jake knew instinctively that he was being stalked by
some unknown beast.  He tried to run but his feet found no purchase.

He had to escape; he just had to.

And, behind him, the creature inexorably advanced.  A
greyness, against which all greyness paled into insignificance, hunting its
prey.  A ravenous hulk that wanted to suck out the life from him.  Terrified
beyond his imagination Jake turned to face the shadowy pursuer but there was
nothing that was truly visible.  All he could see was the fog but there was the
impression of something monstrous that seemed to loom over him.

And then came the most hideous, unearthly, voice
imaginable.

‘Give me the ring,’ it rasped and Jake somehow knew that
all he had to do was to hand over his family heirloom and all would be all
right.  But no.  He could not do that.  How could he?  And he touched the ring
for what little reassurance it could endow.  But it was to no avail.  His legs
were losing their strength and Jake knew that he was about to collapse into the
soft yielding soil that opened to welcome him as if it were quicksand.

The thing dropped down until, at last, he could see its
dreadful shifting shape as if it had been formed of the very air itself.

Its enormous maw opened and Jake could feel its cold, cold
breath upon his face and then, for one fleeting moment, the thing seemed to
change to become a little girl who stared at him with hate filled eyes…and Jake
recognised her.

It was then that he screamed.

…………………………………

‘Jake!’

As his eyes snapped open, Jake became aware of two
things.  One that Fiona was shaking him and the other that he was bathed in
perspiration.

‘Fiona?’

‘You okay?  You made enough noise to wake the
neighbourhood.’

He tried to concentrate but he could still see the face of
that little girl.  Why did she seem so familiar?  And, as the details of the
remainder of the nightmare faded, so the girl’s face seemed to become more
real…accusing him.  Who the hell was she?

‘It was a dream.  God, it was awful.  I’m sorry.’

‘It’s all right.  How d’you feel.’

He shook his head, trying to return to normality, but
everything was so sluggish.  He had to concentrate.

‘Come on.  I’ll get you a drink.’

‘Thanks.’

And Jake knew how grateful he felt.  Fiona could sometimes
show real consideration.  It was a shame that he was not usually the
beneficiary.

By the time Fiona returned with a cup of sweet tea Jake
was feeling somewhat better and ready to go to sleep again.  Without conscious
effort he drifted off to a fitful doze but he did not really fall asleep until
he heard Fiona’s alarm ringing.

When his own clock woke him with its electronic beeping it
was inevitable that he had no inclination whatever of getting out of bed. 
Still, he had a busy morning ahead of him and he knew that he had to make the
effort.  There was the mysterious Ben Tiferet to meet and that was in just over
an hour.

……………………………….

Some short while later Jake was up, dressed and
breakfasted and ready to face another day.  The terror of his dream had faded
to just a vague memory and he walked towards the front door.  That was when a
strange feeling came over him.  For a brief instant, it was as if some thing
had touched his mind and then it was gone but he was left with the distinct
impression that something was wrong, very wrong indeed.

He turned about and wondered what it was he was feeling. 
If there was one thing that Jake did possess, it was a particularly vivid
imagination.  It was impossible to grow up upon a staple diet of fantasy and
science fiction without one but, in his case, he was worse than the average
reader.  He went so far as to write the occasional short story and to research
the paranormal for his magazine articles over the last few years.

No, it was not his imagination; he was certain of that. 
Something completely out of the ordinary was happening and he had every
intention of finding out what it might be.

For a few seconds Jake stood still and looked down the
short length of hallway at the closed doors that lay before him and for the
first time since they had moved-in it seemed to be quite alien.  There was
something out of kilter, something that would just not gel.

And so, with mixed emotions, Jake approached the first
door.  He could feel his heart racing with his nervous expectancy as if some
inner knowledge was trying to tell him that he was walking into danger but that
was not all he felt.  No, Jake was experiencing hope that all this might be a
precursor to an experience that could lift him from the hum-drum normality of
his married life.  He craved excitement and was revelling in the stimulation to
his senses that was finally reaching for him.  Maybe, at last, he was going to
encounter the supernatural personally instead of vicariously through what he
could read or write.

As if time itself had become a viscous fluid, Jake opened
the door and looked into the lounge.  Slowly he allowed his eyes to scour every
inch of the familiar setting.  Nothing.  Everything was as it should be.  But,
there had to be something wrong.  Everything in his being was telling him that
he was about to face something that would not, could not, fit within the normal
scheme of things.

So where should he look?  The kitchen?  Yes, the kitchen. 
That was very much Fiona’s preserve.  True, Jake helped out and did some of the
more basic cooking, but the only person who really knew her way around all the
cupboards was Fiona. 

And with certain knowledge he stepped across the
threshold.  Again, he looked about but everything seemed normal.  There had to
be something wrong.  The conviction was overwhelming now.

One after the other, Jake opened the units.  Pots, pans,
tins, packets of food.  There was nothing out of the ordinary.  And then he
turned towards the freezer.

The feeling was all-pervading.  There was something
there.  There was something that would be revealed when he opened the freezer
door.  Stark and white, it stood there; beckoning.

And Jake slowly reached out for the handle.

And pulled…

A reek of putrid offal greeted him and he reeled back in
disgust.  Something in there smelled foul.  What could there be that could
possibly smell like that?  Surely anything Fiona had placed in there would be
frozen by now.

Jake withdrew the top drawer.  Nothing.  Then the next and
the next.  Still nothing.  It was in the bottom section when he found the bag
full and bursting with a glistening blood-red fluid that showed no signs of
being frozen.  Gingerly, he reached in and realised to his horror that the foul
looking contents were still quite warm.  There was something else.  Floating
within the liquid was a small raw and fleshy object and with a feeling of
revulsion Jake knew exactly what it was.  The bulbous head with bulging tightly
closed eyes, two little nostrils and a slit of a mouth that continually opened
and shut like a fish left him with no doubt at all as to what he was holding. 
There were even vestigial unformed limbs that were twitching pathetically.

It was a human foetus that could be little more than one
month after conception and Jake could not help shuddering.  He just wanted to
fling the thing from him.  He hated the very thought of what it represented.

Trying to overcome his sense of horror Jake squeezed the
bag and touched the warm living thing.

With a sense of almost fatalism, Jake squeezed again at
the squelchy lump.  Yes, its tiny heart was pulsing rapidly with a steady and
malevolent beat and Jake was overcome with the thought that this was the child
he did not want.  He was not going to be a father ever.  No way.

No!

Harder he pressed, trying to gain the feel of the thing
but he knew the truth.  He was trying to crush the life from it?

A foetus.  A baby.

The thought was revolting.

And then it happened.

There was an almost soundless plop and the bag exploded. 
The liquid flew in all directions, splattering Jake, and covering everything
with crimson.

The creature just lay there in Jake’s shaking hand and it
gulped the air.  Then, in a travesty of the moment of birth, it began to cry.

He lost all control.

Sickened he thrust the pathetic creature from his hand and
heard rather than saw the splurge as it smashed against the tiled floor.

With bile rising in his throat and clutching his stomach
to hold back the awful taste of his vomit Jake raced for the stairs.  There was
barely time to spare as he made the toilet and brought up from his tortured
guts the little food that he had eaten that day.

For ten more minutes Jake stood there facing the mess,
quite incapable of movement.  His head spun uncontrollably as he found that it
was impossible to cope with the nightmare he had experienced.  Suddenly he had
entered into a world in which anything could happen, however inexplicable, and
Jake knew fear.

And then, from nowhere, came a voice in his head.  It was
the same as in the dream; how could he forget it?

‘Give me the ring,’ it commanded and, again, Jake could
feel an instinctive reaction that all would return to normal if he complied.

…………………………………………….

When, at last, some semblance of sense returned Jake knew
that he could contain himself no longer.  He just had to look again.  So,
cautiously, he walked down the stairs and re-entered the kitchen.

On the floor before the still open freezer door lay a
plastic wrapped piece of meat.  An almost frozen and cooked joint of beef or
something similar.  There was no sign that anything untoward had occurred.  No
sign at all.

……………………………………………….

Almost an hour was to pass before Jake felt able to come
to terms with his experiences.  Throughout that time he just sat there in his
armchair with an untouched Scotch in his hand as he tried desperately to make
sense of everything.

First there was that dream and then this and in each case
mention of the ring.  Uncle Phil’s death no longer seemed so innocent.  If he
had experienced anything like what Jake found himself going through it was no
wonder he was so glad to dispose of the ring by giving it away.  Maybe his
heart attack had been brought on by something more sinister than stress.  Maybe
he had died of fright.  Was that the unknown enemy’s weapon…fear?

Well, Jake was not going to succumb.  Whoever he was Jake
would face him and get to the bottom of it and Jake already had his suspicions.

His thoughts, however, were unceremoniously interrupted by
the shrill ringing of the telephone and it was not difficult to guess that it
had to be one of the two people he was supposed to be meeting.  One was after
his ring and the other, his wife.  Things were certainly getting interesting.